


Black Liquorice

by MidoriEyes



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Teasing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidoriEyes/pseuds/MidoriEyes
Summary: “On me,” was all the stranger said in a sultry croon as he retracted his hand from the glass stem.“Is that an invitation?” Angel replied in equal measure.“It’s whatever you want it to be, baby.”“Oh boy...” Husk put the vodka away, silently wishing he didn’t have front row seats to the mating ritual transpiring before him.
Relationships: Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 356





	Black Liquorice

**Author's Note:**

> Husk has to sit through Angel flirting with a potential client at his bar, but things don't go exactly as planned for anyone involved.

The front desk of the Hazbin Hotel had two functions – to check new residents in, and to serve what was essentially watered down baby formula to patrons who were being weened off alcohol and the abuse thereof. It was a prudent step in the recovery process, and although the taste was severely lacking, at least the semblance of holding a beer mug kept people’s sense of security in tact.

There was trouble at first, with sinners sneaking in their own flask of devil’s delight, but once Charlie had gotten wind of it she didn’t let that stand for very long. Now, thanks to one Radio Demon, there was an enchantment in place that automatically reduced anything boozy into flattened swill, devoid of its affects and any existing flavor as a result. No one was quite sure how he did it, but there was one soul in the hotel who couldn’t care less either way.

Husk’s “volunteer service” guaranteed him an endless supply of beverages, around the clock, and free of magical interference. With the only stipulation being that its cheap, there was no better non-paying job that could come closer to the winged demon’s dream life. He could do without all the mopey schmucks coming to the bar with their sob stories and strategically placed currency to coerce him into sharing his stash, but overall it was a pretty cozy gig.

Truth be told, Alastor had whisked Husk away from his last game at a most opportune time.

He’d won the whole pot, cheats executed flawlessly and not a single player had seen it… or so he thought. Just as the cat had presented his winning hand he saw the flash of a silver barrel, no doubt belonging to whatever gun was being inconspicuously retrieved from underneath the suit jacket of one of his opponents. The owner of said weapon happened to be a bird of prey, the insignia on his lapel suggesting he belonged to some faction of Hell’s gambling industry, and his sharp eyesight didn’t spare Husker the blink needed to deploy that pair of aces without notice. Maintaining a staunch poker face, he reached to collect his earnings while simultaneously trying to suss out a way to avoid getting his ass kicked, when suddenly…

Cue the red bastard - smiley as ever. Throw in one royal pain, her white-knighting girlfriend, some eight-legged streetwalker, and a windup toy on steroids, and you got a whole fucked up bag of nuts, Husk included. It wasn’t the worst company, but the less interaction he had with this colorful crew the better, for sanity’s sake.

The night was still young and drinks were flowing, with no small amount of grumbling from visiting patrons. Husk had been slipped three tens so far, and he’d accepted all of them with the promise of sharing the “real” liquor. He didn’t bother telling anyone that the hex worked on _all_ alcohol within hotel property, and that he was the one soul exempt from its influence. No one ever questioned why his good stuff didn’t taste any different, and just assumed it was your average cheap booze after all. The mere perception that they were throwing back stronger stuff was really all that mattered to them.

The only other person who knew this piece of information was Angel Dust. The spider had figured it out after making a keen observation one night regarding Husk’s dilated pupils, courtesy of the five beers he had prior. Unfortunately, the training Husk put himself through to suppress that reaction would deteriorate in his drunken state, hence why he rarely ever gambled sober. Angel didn’t care, though. He ordered the same shit that everyone else got and sipped it down like it was top shelf whiskey. Half of his requests were loaded with sugar, so he was riding a different high altogether. One time a lizard demon asked for two shots of ghost pepper hot sauce, to which Husk fulfilled accordingly; everyone had a preference.

The cat didn’t have to look up from his monthly subscription of Casino Crypt to know that their resident spindly prostitute had taken a seat at his bar for the evening. Angel stood out like a sore thumb with his blindingly white fur and pink spots, a distinctive contrast from the blood rich tones of Hell, but it was clear that he liked the looks it gave him. The interest from several fellow demons was certainly piqued, if their drool-covered chins were anything to go by. Angel gave them a playful wave to whet their appetites with no intention of soliciting much more than that, and crossed his primary set of arms on the bar’s surface, fluffy chest nestled snugly on top.

This wasn’t him trying to get into Husk’s good graces with a little eye candy. There’s not much a scantily clad porn star can do that _wouldn’t_ come off as obscene, after all. Although, the wink and provocative timbre of his voice when he finally spoke told a different story.

“Heya, Husky.”

The cat muttered something intelligible, turning a page in his magazine with one carefully sharpened claw.

“Bar’s pretty bumpin’. Did’ja take my advice from last time?”

Husk snorted, still refusing to make eye contact with the spider. “If you think I’m lacin’ all this booze with that shit you shove up your nose, you got another thing comin’.”

Angel leaned against the counter, unbothered by his companion’s prickly attitude. “I’m just sayin’, it’d make for some sorely needed entertainment around here.”

“What, you don’t get enough of that on the job?”

“Not when _I’m_ the one doin’ the entertainin’. I wanna _be_ entertained, ya know?”

Husk paused at that statement, raising one feathery eyebrow. “And slippin’ a mickey to everyone here would do it for ya?”

“Ha! You kiddin’ me? Watchin’ a buncha pinheads trip out and go ape shit? That’d be a helluva good time!”

“If you say so, skittles. You gonna order somethin’?”

Angel let out a resigned sigh and propped his chin in his hand. “Just gimme a cosmo; the works.”

“Comin’ up.” Husk peeled his eyes away from an article about this year’s hottest custom playing cards and went through the familiar motions of making Angel’s poison of choice.

Before he could start pouring the vodka, a dainty pink cocktail appeared before their very eyes. The hand that produced it belonged to a beefed up demon hybrid with ram horns as big as Niffty. Husk swore he saw the guy’s abnormally large arm veins jump when he shifted to loom over Angel, predatory grin cutting into his jaw like a lopsided crescent moon. Those reptilian eyes roamed the arch of Angel’s back, foregoing subtly for a more bold approach.

Husk wanted to yak, but Angel didn’t seem to mind the attention.

“On me,” was all the stranger said in a sultry croon as he retracted his hand from the glass stem.

“Is that an invitation?” Angel replied in equal measure.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, baby.”

“Oh boy...” Husk put the vodka away, silently wishing he didn’t have front row seats to the mating ritual transpiring before him. He busied himself by cleaning out some used tumblers a couple of patrons had left on the counter, while the two demons continued to trade coquettish one-liners like it was some sort of competition. A well trained eye and ear could tell that Angel was putting this guy to the test. He knew all the right buttons to push and whether the reactions he got now would mean trouble later, or a ticket to heaven. So far, it looked like things were in the spider’s favor.

“Thanks for the drink, muscles, but I’m not sure this is gonna be sweet enough for my tastes,” Angel said as he circled the rim with his gloved finger.

“Three cubes of sugar, right? I know what you like, doll face.”

“Ooooo~ now ya speakin’ my language! What else might I like?”

The hybrid grinned as if he’d just reeled in the biggest catch of his life. “I’m not one for small talk. How about I show you instead?”

For anyone else it might be hook, line, and sinker, but Angel was a pro at his trade, and pros got paid. Husk was admittedly curious as to how this guy’s plan of forgoing payment would work out.

“If you know so much about me then you know that my time is worth money. Besides, this ain’t exactly a place where I can offer my special brand of services.”

These deterrents didn’t seem to phase the other demon, however. He moved his mountainous shoulders in what was probably a shrug. Husk half expected them to have their own climate.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got everything you need back at my place. Just a quick drive down to the Brimstone district and you’ll be swimmin’ in luxury... among other things.”

“Ugh, the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Husk asked himself, not wanting an answer. Angel, on the other hand, mused over this new information, eyeing the rosy concoction in his glass with a thoughtful hum.

“Brimstone, eh?”

If there was ever a way to live the “high life” in a cesspool like this, it was in Brimstone - the crown jewel of Beverly Hells. Quite a few overlords had vacation homes there when they wanted a break from the city’s hustle and bustle, and there were plenty of pompous egomaniacs, like Angel’s gentleman caller, that owned a penthouse or two in the area as well. If that was indeed the case, then money would be of no issue in the slightest.

“What’dya say, angel cakes?”

Husk waited for the verdict, side-eyeing the duo as he polished off the last of the mugs.

“Hmm… Don’t ever call me angel cakes again, and you might just have me for the whole night.”

“Lovely,” the demon rumbled, flashing his forked tongue between three inch fangs. “Name’s Bruce.”

“Good for you.” Angel picked up the cocktail glass and allowed the drink to swirl around for a moment. “I’m gonna need another one of these before we leave, Brucey.”

“Knock yourself out. We got time.”

“Right. Welp, bottoms u--!”

“Hold it.”

The sound of talons hitting glass left a ringing in their ears, but even more audible was the stunned silence that followed after. Both Angel and Bruce looked up to see Husk’s neutral expression staring back at them, his arm stretched out to cover the top of the cosmo as if it had personally offended him.

“Uhh, is there a problem, Husky?”

“Yeah, I’ll say there’s a problem,” The cat grunted, sliding the glass over towards himself. “Forgot the damn lime. Gimme a sec.”

“Really?” Angel deadpanned.

“Hey, just ‘cus I didn’t personally serve you the drink, don’t mean I can allow this travesty to happen.” Husk set the glass on the barkeep’s counter behind him and proceeded to add the lime garnish, throwing in a few sprinkles of zest for flair. “I ain’t about to let my good name be tarnished by a mediocre cosmo.”

“Gee, how chivalrous,” Angel said, rolling his eyes.

Once Husk declared the cocktail worthy he offered it back to Angel, who took the glass with a quizzical frown. Bruce didn’t have anything to say about the exchange, and simply reestablished the bubble he had so ardently cultivated around himself and his quarry.

The hybrid hovered over Angel’s shoulder and spoke right into his ear. “The sooner you drink that backwash, the sooner we can get out of this dump. I got all the good shit back home.”

Angel smiled, raising the cosmo to his lips. “Careful, stud. I might just drink ya dry.”

“HA!” Husk banged the table with his fist and let out a hefty laugh, disrupting the mood as quickly as it had settled. “Ain’t that the truth! He’s not exaggeratin’ either. I’ve seen this guy drink a whale under the table, believe you me.”

In another bout of speechlessness, Angel was trying to figure out whether Husk had grown another head in the last minute. Bruce, on the other hand, knew exactly what to say this time around.

“Listen, pal,” he started off, straightening his back to tower over the smaller demon. “You mind taking a hike? We’re trying to have a conversation here.”

Husk secretly admired the tight lid of restraint this guy had on himself, and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Woooah, easy there, killer. I just happen to know our eight-legged friend here pretty well, is all. My advice - be careful with what you’re offerin’. You might not be left with much in the mornin’.”

“What, he already fuck you or something? Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, old timer,” the hybrid snickered, his posture now relaxed in the face of what he deemed as a non-threat. “Unlike you, I got the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Right,” Husk answered, back to his usual blasé self. “Like that roofie you slipped into his drink earlier.”

Husk’s off-handed accusation made the atmosphere around the trio go cold, and then hot again when the first crack of Bruce’s “cool guy” persona could be seen in the way his left eye twitched - a rookie tell.

“Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter or somethin’?” Husk griped as he picked his teeth with a cocktail umbrella.

Bruce yanked at the hem of his leather jacket to flatten out the wrinkles, yet another indication of poorly hidden nerves. “What exactly are you insinuating, pussycat?”

“Oh, enough with that lame act, buddy.” Husk flicked the toothpick away and pointed a claw at the other demon. “You revealed your hand way in advance. I saw ya chuck that powdery shit into _that_ drink as soon as he sat his ass down.”

“Yeah, right. You don’t have any proof that I--”

“Whaaaaat the fuuuuuck...”

They looked at Angel, then at the thing that had put such a horrified expression on his face. The cosmo, which was once a delicate blush color, now had a dash of radioactive green in the mix, turning it into the Hulk’s version of a birthday cocktail.

“I rest my case.” There wasn’t much left in this life that satisfied Husk, but proving he was right always gave him a sick high.

“The fuck you do to my drink?!” Angel squawked, although his ire seemed to be directed towards the cat rather than his client.

“Uhh, shouldn’t you be askin’ Barnaby over here? He’s the one who was tryin’ to dope you up.”

“Don’t look like it from where I’m sittin’. I didn’t have a buncha little glow worms in here before.”

“That’s WHY they’re glowin’, genius! It detects date rape drugs. Don’t ask me how it works, I ain’t got no fuckin’ clue.”

It wasn’t uncommon for demons to fuck each other over using old fashioned methods, such as lacing their meals with enough drugs to instantly kill any full grown human, but typically they all just took what they wanted without so much of a thought towards propriety or stealthiness. However, seeing as the victim in this case happened to be the poster child of the Hazbin Hotel, which by now was well known for being under the custodial thumb of an insanely powerful overlord, discretion was an absolute must. Husk wasn’t ordered to be on the lookout for creeps like Bruce, nor was he a chaperon to all the sinners who inhabited this establishment. It wasn’t any of his business what people did or didn’t do with their time here. Regardless, rules were rules, and everyone needed to follow them.

That, and Husk hated dickheads like Bruce more than he hated Mondays.

The hybrid in question had a few seconds to recover from his little exposé, huffing at his accuser with barely concealed disdain, and dropping the facade he had so ostentatiously built up over the course of fifteen minutes. “Well played. But this is Hell, smartass. I can knock this bitch out and do whatever the fuck I want, and no one would give a flying shit. I mean, what’re you gonna do, call the cops on me?”

“No… but I can think of something way worse.”

Husk pursed his lips, let out a piercing whistle, and the room _moved_.

Shadows dripped down the wood paneling and stained glass fixtures like a thick black ink. The collection of skulls mounted above the bar rattled fiercely, their once hollow eyes flaring to life in an ominous red glow as dark energy crackled in the air, a feeling that most residents knew all too well. It didn’t take long for most of them to clear out in a trail of whimpers and screams.

“You see...” Husk effectively broke the tension, causing Bruce to flinch out of his shocked stupor. “My manager is under the employ of royalty, and he’s been given strict orders to come down on anyone who has ill intentions within this hotel.”

On either side of them, two decorative snakes that were previously wrapped around the bar’s support beams uncoiled from their perch, and slithered down the polished wood until they were face to face with Bruce. Their hiss was deafening, sounding more like nails on a chalkboard mixed with radio static.

“Now, I ain’t no whistleblower, but when some scum-suckin’ gym rat tries takin’ advantage of one of our esteemed guests, it becomes a cause for concern. I’d ask ya to leave, but I have a feelin’ that wouldn’t go over too well for me, considerin’ you’re the size of Bigfoot himself. So, if things keep goin’ the way they been goin’, I may need to get HIM involved...”

A bone-deep moaning sound, like the creak of a ship at sea, echoed throughout the lobby, as if every nail in every floorboard was being bent to fit this new reality that was so aggressively taking shape.

Meanwhile, Angel had gone quiet as a mouse, and merely observed what was happening with a cautious eye. All of the attention was now on Husk and the invisible bomb he was ready to let drop at a moment’s notice.

“Yeah. I don’t think any of us want that. So, what’dya say?”

The shadows had now congregated around the still remaining trio, nipping at the cloven hooves of Bruce’s legs and grinning with a hunger most foul. There was no hiding the sweat that had accumulated on the hybrid’s brow, or the wild look in his eyes that spoke only of base animal fear. Those muscles wouldn’t do much good against a raw, intangible force like this, and they all knew it.

“Better hurry, Bruce.”

Husk tapped his nails to the beat of the hotel’s grandfather clock, and as the room got darker, the gold of his irises cut through the space between them with an unnatural brightness.

"̴̩̪̞͔̗̔̊̒̃́̓͝I̵̦̩̼͓̯͇̋͐̽̂̆̾̿̅'̜̱̜̮̜̥̯̪͛̾̏͒̚͝ṁ̴̦̦͙̜̜͔̄́̏̍͌͡ n̨̢̻̮͔̗͕͓͉̑̃̉͒͛̊͘o̠͔̞͉̬͗̈́̂͘͠ẗ̛̹̖̫̮̩̘͇́͆̇̿̈́̑̿͆͟ o̧̜̻̯̗̮̘̠͈̲̅͛͐̂̊n͚̥̮͇͖̑͐̏̈̑̈́̌͢͠͡e̸͎̞͓͖̓̉͗͛̾͘͟͜ f̰̳̫̙̬̦̞̤̂̊̚ǫ̧͎̟͚͓̮̺̲̤̾͋̐̈́r̷̖̯̝̪͆͐́͋̃͢ s̸̫̠̹͈̯̓̏̓̈̀ͅm̰̻͖̳̥̯̒̓͒̈̅̔̇͢͡a̴̜͕͎̭͕͓̺̖͖̺̾̑̓̄̕̚͞l̵̢͓̖̲̬̩͇͙̳̠̉͗͋͆̑̂̓̚ļ̻͖͚̰̏̋͊̕̕͞ͅ t̺͉̱͖͈͍́̈́͛̇̈̚̚͟͝͞ą̨̙̻͔̘̺̼͗̏͋̑̄̾̂ͅl̤̖͓̗͉̱͆̍̏̚k̪̞͓̈̂̽͗͢͜͞.̛̳̱͓̞͚̖̌́͋̓̑̑̎̚͟"̳͓̟̼̇͛̃̌͂͜

By the time Bruce had tripped over himself at least twice on his way to the exit, everything had restored itself back to the way it was. Sentient shadows that were billowing from underneath the furniture had melted away, and Charlie’s family portraits were no longer on the verge of falling off the wall. Husk’s bar was as empty as the day he’d first arrived, plus one spider, who was currently watching the liquid in his glass slosh back and forth until it stilled once more.

Angel seemed surprisingly calm in the aftermath of it all, but Husk had never known him to be daunted in the face of danger, or he was just really good at playing the stone cold killer. Bruce could have taken a few pointers from him.

“Well, that was easier than I thought it’d be,” Husk murmured, blinking and shaking his head a few times to clear out whatever borrowed voodoo residue was still wedged in the folds of his mind.

Angel picked one of the luminescent green specks out of his drink and rubbed it between his fingers. “Oh, I dunno. Went a little overboard there, don’tcha think?” He asked, flicking it onto the counter.

“If there’s one thing I know about guys like him, it’s that you gotta make yourself seem like the bigger, badder player, otherwise they’ll walk all over you.”

“And what if he didn’t buy your bluff? Smiles’s been at the radio tower all night. You know he wouldn’t hightail it back here over a fuckin’ bar brawl. S’fine that he can do that magic shit remotely and all, but still...”

Husk had gone back to cleaning the glassware. He could close down early since all the other patrons had left to change their pants. “Who said that was any of _his_ doin’?”

For a good five seconds, Angel stared at the cat as if he were calculating the world’s hardest math problem in his head. Then he wheezed out a laugh, wiping a tear from his eye in the interim. “Good one, Husky! If I hadn’t already seen Al’s little puppet show, I might’a believed ya just now.”

“Whatever. Don’t ask me to do ya any favors next time that sack o’ shit comes ‘round again.” Husk groused.

“I didn’t ask for any fuckin’ favors the _first_ time, asshole. Everything was goin’ just how I wanted it to.”

“Yeah, sure. So I take it gettin’ roofied was part of your grand plans for the evenin’, is that right?”

“Uh, yeah? That was the whole point, babe!”

Of all the things he expected Angel to say, that was not one of them.

Husk set down the mug and pressed at the crease between his eyebrows in an attempt to stave off the rapidly forming headache. “Hang on a minute… you sayin’ you knew the whole time?”

Angel twirled around on his stool to face the lobby, letting his elbows support his weight for a bit. “I may be stupid, but I ain’t _that_ stupid. It’s not my first go ‘round with Chad-lookin’ motherfuckers like that.”

“Well… well why didn’t you call’em out? Were you seriously gonna let that douchebag nuke ya and do Lucifer knows what?!”

“The way I look at it...” Angel began, turning to face the bartender with a determined frown, “...is it’s the only hit I’ll ever get in this shit hole, seein’ as lil’ miss princess confiscated all my goodies when I moved in here. And before ya start judgin’ me, not like I care if you do anyway, I want ya to imagine a bunch of icy hot pins n’ needles jabbin’ every inch of your skin for a solid week. Have fun with that, and _then_ you can come talk to me about how I get my kicks nowadays.”

Husk was no stranger to withdrawal. The empty bottles of prescription drugs that had littered almost every room of his apartment after the war were a testament to that very sensation the spider was describing. He’d switched to alcohol soon enough, which was cheaper, easier to obtain, and never in short supply, but for individuals who’d been using most of their life…

If Husk ever felt “pity” it was typically a party-for-one kind of thing, but there was something genuinely sad about the desperate measures Angel resorted to just for a taste of relief from the ball and chain he’d been assigned at death. They all had their cross to bear in this fucked up afterlife, although the pain of living never really left, rather it became an eternally oozing sore in this trench they called Hell; an itch that never went away; the punishment for corporeal overindulgence in its many forms. You learned to ignore it on the best of days, but this obviously wasn’t one of them for a certain eight-legged addict.

“What? You got somethin’ to say, then spit it out. Quit pussyfootin’ around,” Angel snapped, his mood taking a sour turn.

Husk didn’t have the words ready in his mind for what his mouth wanted to say. His tail twitched irritably, and he let out a heavy sigh just to take up a few seconds of time.

“Angel, you… you shouldn’t--”

“Shouldn’t what?” The spider’s tone didn’t allow room for whatever good-natured critique Husk was trying to piece together. The only person in this hotel that Angel somewhat listened to was Charlie, and that’s only because it was difficult to say no to the living embodiment of a marshmallow. What did a deadbeat drunkard have to offer that could possibly be worth its weight in gold to someone like Hell’s number one porn star? “Go ahead, finish what ya started. But if you’re just gonna lecture me about my life choices, then you can fuck right off wit’ that. I already know how pathetic I am, so I don’t need to hear it from anyone else.”

Husk studied Angel’s face – the angry crease between his eyebrows, the smattering of polka dots along his meticulously coiffed hair, the way one tooth peeked out just slightly over his lower lip – and he slumped back against the barkeep’s counter, supposedly finished with whatever he’d been trying to assess. “Forget it. Just… give yourself some credit, will ya?”

It was a fairly ambiguous piece of advice, if that’s what one could call it, but it seemed to quell the brewing storm cloud over Angel’s head, putting his defensiveness to rest in exchange for a more relaxed disposition. He responded with a peace offering of his own, a simple wink, one Husk had received too many times to count.

“I prefer cash, sweetums. Besides, what good’ll that do? Like Brucey said, no one gives a fuck about guys like me anyway. Who cares if some jagweed wants to get his rocks off goin’ all fiddler-on-the-roofie and makin’ scrambled eggs outta my insides from here to Timbuktu?”

“I know someone who wouldn’t be happy ‘bout that.”

“Awww, Husky, you do care!”

“Not me, moron – Charlie! She turns into a mama bear around you.”

“That’s ‘cuz all the big bad wolves can’t keep their hands off me,” Angel purred as he stretched halfway across the counter in a salacious pose.

“Wrong fairytale, kid.”

“Hang on, would that make you the papa bear?”

Husk growled and rolled his eyes. “Enough already! Bar’s shuttin’ down for the night. You’re gonna have to get your jollies somewhere else.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your tail in a knot. I’m goin’.” Angel stood up and composed himself, pulling and tucking where necessary to create that perfectly polished persona. He shimmied the collar of his coat so that his chest was cradled just so, and reached inside to retrieve something at the last minute. Husk nearly startled at the loud smack of Angel’s hand coming down on the bar’s surface, the only justification for it being, “Catch ya later, Husky.”

He scrutinized the wad of bills left on the counter, waiting for a punchline to somehow physically manifest before his eyes. Angel was walking towards the main staircase, hips swaying, as if this particular transaction was a commonplace thing when it was anything but, and before the cat could tell himself to shut up and just take the money, he was already asking.

“What’s this for?”

Angel turned around, forcing a veil of casual innocence between them. “What, you never been tipped before?”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, pal. Not once have you ever paid me for your drinks, let alone leave a tip. What’s the catch?”

“No catch, whiskers. Just figured it was time to pay my tab, that’s all. Been avoidin’ it for ages, but I got a little extra cash from my last customer so… yeah.”

Silence clung to the empty lobby. Somewhere down the hallway, a flurry of hollow footsteps could be heard tapping against the hardwood floors, too indistinguishable to tell whether it was a mouse, or just Niffty cleaning. The hotel was a cacophony of ambient creaks, warbled voices, and banging pipes from old plumbing, but none of it could distract from the tension that had lethargically curled itself up against the hearth of their conversation.

Angel’s full set of arms were crossed, and he grasped at the material of his sleeves like it would save him from drowning, eyes focused on something to his left, or maybe nothing at all. He breathed out through his nose, sounding more tired than he looked, and went to leave a second time.

“You know you don’t owe me anythin’ for that whole shit show back there, right? If anythin’, I ruined your chance at gettin’ laid _and_ fucked up.” Husk said, spitting into a tumbler in lieu of the cleaning solution he didn’t have. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Angel’s shoulders stiffen. “For the record though, if that _wasn’t_ what ya was intendin’, I wouldn’t just sit there and let some shady ass prick fuck ya over like that.”

The spider didn’t face him, but he turned his head just enough to show a half-hearted smile. “Careful. You’re gonna make a guy blush.”

“Heh. That’d be a first.”

“Why bother, though?” Angel asked, finding his missing resolve and brandishing it with confidence anew. “Why stick your neck out for me like that? Me, of all people!”

Husk simply shrugged. “Just seemed like the common sense thing to do.”

“It’s really not. No one’s ever done that for me before - not like I’d expect them to ‘cuz, again, who the fuck cares?”

“Yeah, well, maybe somebody should.”

“Ha! What, like _you_?” Angel scoffed.

“Is that a problem?”

It was blessedly quiet for a solid minute, and Husk let the deep seated comfort of being alone again wash over him. Everything had been put back in its proper place, ready for the next night’s slew of degenerates to come crawling back. All he had to do was lock up the liquor cabinets, head down the hall, and get some well deserved shut-eye, or at least a decent cat nap. He threw his bar rag on a hook near the sink and took a quick tally of the booze that needed to be restocked by next week. Husk frowned, knowing there might be a little less business for a while – voodoo magic had that effect on people – and since nothing got past their hostess with the mostest, he’d eventually have to cough up an excuse as to why their income had taken a dive on the one day she was away on family business. Although, what Charlie didn’t know wouldn’t kill her…

The hair on Husk’s back shot up when he turned around and realized that Angel hadn’t left the room at all, and was instead standing frozen, like a fluorescent hotel gargoyle.

“Uhh…” Husk faltered, somewhat disturbed by that soul-searching stare. “You alright, kid?”

“Huh?” Angel blinked. “Uh, y-yeah. Fine. I’m fine! Fuck!”

Husk didn’t miss the slight crack in the spider’s voice. “O...kay? You don’t sound fine.”

“Oh, well pardon ME if I wasn’t expectin’… I-I mean, YOU just up and said… but that’s not, like, I know ya probably didn’t actually mean that, unless ya did or whatev--”

“Can you chill the fuck out? Jeez! If this is how you are when I treat ya with a minimum amount of decency, I can’t imagine how you’d react to gettin’ a fuckin’ bouquet of flowers or somethin’.”

“……Would’ja though?”

“What?”

“NOTHING. SHUT UP. BYE.”

Husk didn’t press further after Angel finally left the lobby in a brisk walk. His head was starting to hurt, and he could physically feel the bags under his eyes weighing him down, beckoning the cat to bed. Harnessing Alastor’s magic would take a toll on anyone’s energy levels, so whatever unpacking Husk felt like he had to do with that whole interaction just now could wait. Angel could wait. Probably.

The only lights left on were neons, casting a sickly green glow on everything it touched. It was enough light to go by as Husk made his way towards a door that sat close to the hotel’s entrance, which might have been a manager’s office at some point. It had a bed, an end table, and an old CRT television that only played crummy day time soul operas, but that’s all he really needed to get by.

As Husk laid awake under the covers, he went through the events of tonight with growing uncertainty. There wasn’t any use in wondering whether he should have handled this or that differently – what’s done is done, and while Husk didn’t normally like to put himself in the middle of other demon’s affairs, there was something about that hybrid’s demeanor and the way Angel’s body language shifted that set off little alarms in Husk’s head. His ability to read people was not for nothing, after all - Angel didn’t actually want anything to do with that ass wipe. The way he’d subconsciously crossed his legs and second pair of arms in defense; the almost inaudible sound of his bones creaking when he moved, a sign of how tense he was; how long it had taken him to actually go for the drink he’d been given, which Husk now knew wasn’t him playing coy, but hesitation on whether he wanted to go through with his plan in the first place.

Seeing all of this go down was one thing. Intervening was another, and it left a foreign feeling in Husk’s chest. He wasn’t used to looking out for anyone but himself, but somehow Angel seemed to turn that notion on its head. Husk didn’t like it. He didn’t like feelings he couldn’t name, and he definitely didn’t like Ang--

_**SLAM** _

Husk barely had time to register what had barged into his room before a gloved hand had been shoved in his face. At the end of it was a pink ticket stub for a venue called “Hellraisers”. Husk peered up at the backlit form of his current predicament, whose expression looked as if _he_ were the one being put out.

“Take it,” Angel said, sticking the little scrap of paper closer to Husk’s face, who sighed and scratched the inside of his ear with a single claw.

“I ain’t goin’ to one of yer fuckin’ peep shows, Angel. Not supposed to leave the bar unattended anywa--”

“This isn’t so you can watch me dance, pussy cat. Ya didn’t come to my last show, so why the fuck would I keep invitin’ ya?” Angel let the stub float down onto Husk’s lap. “It’s a voucher for the bar there. Ya get free drinks of your choice as long as you have that on the night that I’m performin’. Knock y’self out.”

Husk made no move to inspect the ticket, but the fine print did state the club’s information, so it was probably legit. Without much else to say, he shrugged, grumbled a tired “thanks”, and waited for Angel to see his way out.

“Oh!” The spider paused as if he’d just remembered something. “And bring that bouquet you promised, babe.”

“Huh? I didn’t promise no fuckin’ bouq--”

The rest of Husk’s sentence was cut short when Angel bent down to kiss his nose, which involuntarily twitched at the sudden contact. Any other time he’d have lodged his claws between the eyes of anyone who would dare do such a thing, but it left the cat so stunned he couldn’t retaliate before Angel skipped off down the hall with a jovial little whistle. “Save a drink for me!”

...

Husk waited for Angel’s footsteps to die out before flopping back onto his comforter. His head lolled to the side, taking note of all the black and white hair that he’d shed recently - it was almost enough to create a mini Husk, probably. He still refused to clean it at Niffty’s behest, his bed being the only thing in this hotel that smelled like him. Of course, now it had the barest hint of Angel’s musky, syrupy scent – it reminded Husk of black liquorice, which happened to be his favorite candy as a kid.

He didn’t hate it, if the involuntary purr that started emanating from his throat was any indication, and a contented drowsiness washed over him in a way he’d never really felt before.

“Well... fuck me.”


End file.
